Muse on a Murder
by JazzinLyric
Summary: Erik's muse on the matter of Buquet's death. "Well, here is your limelight, Monsieur Buquet…"


**Author's Note:** Just something I got to thinking about after watching the movie again. I will be updating Flight soon, so do not think I have abandoned it!

**Disclaimer:** Own Phantom? Not I.

**-=o0o=-**

**Muse on a Murder**

**-=o0o=-**

He hadn't the slightest inkling. One, such as I, with a practiced hand in these sort of affairs can blatantly discern another man's understanding and _anticipation_ for these matters. Yet he was oblivious, and preposterously so. Sauntering on the catwalks like a swaggering pirate, he seemed to, at the moment, only enjoy the plight of the performers on the stage. He was completely enthralled as the Toad received her just punishment for defying me and the entire cast clamored to set act three in about fifteen futile seconds. He just simply had no clue that he was about to be visited by the Angel of Death.

_The fool._

And I would have laughed at the commotion of the scene as well, had I still not been seething in anger over the whole issue that my commands had been ignored _completely_. This was something that would have to be dealt with at a later date…perhaps with a bit more…emphasis. But for the time being, my sights were set on this man, this stagehand who took to telling tales of my sightings to the ballet rats in attempt to gain leverage with these women, leverage to satiate his primal...urges. This bombastic man, who divulged information like a spewing street gutter…he would weave no more _precious_ tales around those ignoramus ballerina heads.

_The wrong place at the wrong time, Monsieur Buquet._

Turning as he walked, he laid his eyes upon me: first my cloak, then my face, then my mask. The look in his eyes at that very moment was _wonderful_ dramatic irony at its exquisite finest. The expression seemed to give the impression that it was the very first time he had ever seen me…but he seemed to know, at the same time, that it would be his last. Is that not…_operatic?_

_Ah, but Monsieur Buquet! Have you not seen me before? At least…that was what I was told…_

This was when it turned into the classic game of cat and mouse. Of course, I could have just killed him on the spot, but everyone needs their exercise, you know. I was fuming that moment in time, so in retrospect, I suppose my thoughts were not as clear as they should have been. Unfortunately for Buquet, one cannot turn back time, even if one wanted to. Adrenaline had kicked in, flooding my mind with its intoxicating chemical, propelling me to follow in very deliberate pursuit. I suppose when I mimicked his movements he did not appreciate it as much as I enjoyed watching his fear build to near blind, horror-filled hysteria.

_What is wrong Monsieur Buquet? Were you really expecting a phantom to keep to the shadows?_

I wrenched the catwalk; he fell. He grasped the air below him as he tried to flip himself over, failing to rise from his unfortunate position. It was the moment, I believe, for which we had both been waiting. If I was in my right mind, I would have asked him: so where is your bravado now? Have you any stories to tell _me?_ But I laced the Punjab lasso around his neck faster than he had time to react, and pulled my end of it as hard as I could, cutting off any protest that he might have uttered. The rest was a blur, an adrenaline high _blur_.

_Why, Monsieur Buquet! Whatever happened to your hand being at the level of your eyes?_

All of my fury, my frustration, my righteous anger was being taken out on this man, this man who defied me just as the managers had… Well, he had become a venue for all of my overwhelming hatred for the human race at that moment. Something…something inside me had completely snapped. I let him fall to the stage as he choked and sputtered, his face turning a vibrant reddish-purple, but not before tying my end of the lasso to the catwalk. I watched from above as horrified screams from every conceivable direction below me sounded out at the gruesome sight of Buquet's convulsing form strung up several feet from the stage. I remember waiting for a moment for effect, savoring the sound of my victory against the Populaire management, against the performers who had chosen not to adhere to my…warnings… I remember I then untied the lasso, and allowed him to fall the rest of the way onto center stage. …Center stage…right where he wanted to be when told those _frightening_…stories.

_Well, here is your limelight Monsieur Buquet… _

Now why so silent?

**-=o0o=-**

**A/N: **A little drabble, but something I felt writing as an exercise of sorts. Hope you enjoyed.

**Reviews make me just simply want to write more. And that's the truth!**


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